


Everything is Not

by plingo_kat



Category: Push (2009)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-23
Updated: 2011-06-24
Packaged: 2017-10-20 16:25:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/214697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plingo_kat/pseuds/plingo_kat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The easy thing to forget in this life is that your talent doesn’t define you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The easy thing to forget in this life is that your talent doesn’t define you. Or rather, it does, but not _all_ of you.

Here. He isn’t explaining very well.

Just like an artist isn’t only their ability to paint, or an athlete isn’t just their skill at a sport, Specials aren’t comprised of only their abilities. It’s natural to get caught up in what you can do, reading the future or moving things with your mind (and he never really gets over that, being _telekinetic_ and how seriously awesome that is) but if that’s your only skill, you’re going to get quickly dead.

Yeah. There are downsides to being special.

Anyways, Nick’s other talent is planning. Being on your own as a kid makes that kind of a necessity, and he finds that he’s good at it. Nothing long-term, mind, because that isn’t an option: cultivating skills you’ll never need isn’t smart. But racking up debt with the mob and Division surveillance requires a certain kind of avoidance, and Nick can do that. Does do it, because otherwise he’s fucked.

This isn’t something he’s really realized about himself until he meets Cassie, because Cassie _does_ define herself by her gift (curse) and it’s a liability even as much as it is an asset. Focusing on Watching means that Cassie is better at her age than Nick is at his, which admittedly does save their lives more than once. But she’s only _reacting_ to her visions, not planning ahead, not thinking around the threefivetwenty mental corners that allow Nick to keep himself breathing under the radar, and they can’t live long like that. Won’t.

Obviously, he’s going to have to teach her. That’s fine. He likes the kid.

 

They’re in a bar the first time Nick brings it up. A seedy one, where they don’t care that Cassie obviously isn’t old enough to drink.

“You aren’t just a Watcher, you know,” he says, pulling his beer closer as Cassie eyes it speculatively. She sniffs and sips her Coke.

“What else would I be?”

“You. Cassie. A crappy artist.” He ignores her glare. “Somebody who likes bright colors. I don’t know.”

“ _Duh._ But I’m a Watcher. That’s all Division cares about.”

Nick gestures, frustrated. “But that’s not all you are. You’re thirteen, you like—whatever you like, and _you have a life_. Division can’t take that from you. You don’t let them.”

Cassie stares at him, quiet and still, for a long moment.

“You’re really different from my mom,” she says, the sharp defensive edge gone from her voice. For the first time she actually sounds her age, uncertain and slightly afraid.

“Well, yeah.” Nick grins and downs the rest of his beer. “Finish your drink. Then we’ll go out to do something. Your choice, my treat.”

“You’re broke.” Cassie’s voice is tart. “It’s all going to be my money anyway.”

“All right.” Nick is comfortable enough in his masculinity that accepting money from a thirteen year old girl doesn’t sting more than a little. “Your choice, your treat.”

Cassie smiles, and it brightens her face. “You’re on.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a reason for the streaks in Cassie's hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100 words.

The first time Cassie pulls away from her mother at the drug store to go to the beauty section, she chooses Atomic Pink hair dye (promised to glow under black light).

“I’m sure it’ll look wonderful, sweetie.” The twist of her mouth betrays amusement. Cassie huffs.

“It’s cool.” Full of pre-teen haughtiness. (She is eleven.)

“Of course.” Another smile. The cashier gives both of them disapproving looks. Neither care.

That night Cassie watches artificial color swirl down the drain, faded with water, and doesn’t think of blood.

She dreams of gunshot wounds spraying paint, neon green and orange and pink.

**Author's Note:**

> I may end up writing more of this, as a kind of ongoing ficlet/drabble series. Maybe. (Why do I become obsessed with every movie I've ever seen? And why is Push such an unsatisfying movie? NOTHING GETS RESOLVED. Perfect fic fodder, though.)


End file.
